


Hello ? Can you hear me ?

by abxl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, i have no idea how shit works ignore me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:13:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4446566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abxl/pseuds/abxl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It couldn't be much of a coincidence, how similar their Skype-numbers were, Ian felt; like it was some sort of destiny not to call Lip who'd just annoy him anyways, and wake a sleep-deprived Ukrainian boy instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello ? Can you hear me ?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acesam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acesam/gifts).



> Because Ukrainian Mickey at 3 AM is the most important AU I could think of.

 

There were too many things about the world Ian didn’t really understand.

One of those things was the internet, or more accurately, everyone’s obsession with it.

In some cases it was pretty helpful, of course it was, the trashy laptop collecting dust in the corner of his room had helped him with his homework several times, the phone in his pocket saved his ass from being kicked by Fiona in case of him staying out later than expected often enough, too (not like she kicked his ass very often, honestly, she had other things to do), but what was the general point of all those.. _things ?_ Youtube, Twitter, Instagram, whatever they talked about, it made his head buzz.

Yet there he was. Cross-legged on his bed, once again trashy laptop starting up in front of him, it glowed and glowed but nothing really.. happened.

It was little to very ironic, actually, the reason why he was sat like that. It was no one but his beloved brother, Lip "Where the fuck did you get _that thing_ from ? Laptops are a waste of money nowadays, with all the iPhone-shit going on," Gallagher, who wanted to Skype-call Ian from Uni because something came up and.. really, Ian barely read through the text, it had something to do with Amanda, and whenever it had something to do with Amanda, it was mostly terribly boring and he’d hear about it like three times and in different versions anyways, there was no escaping from it.

And that’s just where he had found himself, too. No desire to listen to his brother shit-talk about his own girlfriend-whatsoever, no desire to figure out this Skype-bullshit, no desire to do anything but lay down and sleep because the past few days had been exhausting enough, with Frank back in the house for some sort of purpose, work and school and other jazz he refused to think about just then.

_No, but for real. How would he figure this Skype-bullshit out ?_

He barely knew how to use a laptop, how on earth was this going to work out ? Lip had created the account for him weeks and weeks and weeks ago, but how did you.. yea. How did you ? How did he ? _Contacts sounds good,_ he thought but not for all too long, because once he clicked on the button, an empty page showed. _No contacts. Alright._

Lip had given him a number at some point, but _God,_ as if he just sat down and turned on that ugly laptop-thing just for saving some stupid numbers, _he could still do that later._ He scrolled through few texts of the other, and at some point even actually found it. _Hah._

There was nothing unusual about anything at all about this. The number seemed to be correct, the account leading to it had no profile picture or anything but Ian trusted it enough judging by the way he shook his head and started silently laughing to himself when he saw the status; _'Fuck U up.'_

_This can only be Lip. Call._

Jokes on him. Jokes on the way he didn’t check the mirror twice before walking through the door and reaching for the laptop, jokes on that strand of hair poking out provokingly stupid, jokes on the lighting and the way it made him look so tired like it was way late than it actually was at his place (even if it was around 8 PM already).

And, last but not least; jokes on the boy popping up on his screen for not actually being Lip.

_Oh._

There was silence. Like, lots of silence. Silence Ian couldn’t quite manage as he blinked at the screen, head full of cussing and questioning how to get out of this one, empty expression but the violent blush dragging itself from his jaw to the very edge of his cheekbones, slow but harsh. Bad lighting was a lifesaver somehow somewhere.

_"Allo ?"_

Head full of cussing and questioning simply had turned into an endless chain of _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,_ by now. This boy was, besides not being Lip, a complete stranger, and judging by the godforsaken-- greeting or whatever, he was from abroad, too. _Nice one, Ian._

"Uh, _hello,"_ he uttered out, his voice like he was trying to talk to someone with only one functional ear-- like the other couldn’t understand him, which might’ve been the case, but by the way he was raising his brows in a rather _'the fuck is wrong with you?’_ -way more than a _'I don’t understand your pretty polished language man, leave me alone'_ -way, you could tell that, in fact, he understood him well enough and questioned if something was up with him-- like, okay, obviously, Ian was sort of looking like a fool in that moment, and it’s not like that was new to him, but.. he still didn’t know how to handle it.

The other looked at him that way, too.

Honestly, he looked at him like Ian came from another planet, but the only thing that made him different to humans from earth was, like, a third eye or something. Really disappointing. Like, _man. Here I am, meeting a fucking alien, and then you look like this ? Go the fuck home._ It frightened Ian a little bit, and he wasn’t even quite sure why.

Okay. No, yea. Maybe _he_ wasn’t sure why, but it was just _Ian,_ misunderstanding everything, uttered or untold, not quite grasping sense on the first try-- everyone else, however, would’ve caught the drift by the bare expression on the boy’s face. You could describe it in many ways, really, you could describe the strange brows that went up his whole forehead but looked sort of furrowed at the same time, you could describe that cold look in the eyes that made you say stuff like _"If looks could kill,"_ you could describe the shadows under his eyes and the constant kept back yawning as some sort of signs that, oh, you know, it might be late wherever the other was sitting. All you needed to say to describe his expression, though, was, that he looked fairly pissed off.

And Ian might’ve seen all of those things. But really, all he actually noticed was the _"Allo ?",_ and, how sort of really breathtaking the other was.

(The latter took him a little longer, however.)

"It’s 3.26 AM, bro," he spoke now, and, to Ian’s surprise, in a fairly impressive accent. You could clearly hear that the boy was some sort of European, but only if you really concentrated on the _r_ and on the _th_ a little bit.

"I know--" Ian responded, but really, he didn’t know at all. He didn’t know anything, he felt all of a sudden. It was like God had just sat him on earth, like that, in front of the screen of this laptop without giving him the ability to speak or to move or to think like usual people his age would. New born, with paperwork right in front of him. _Eugh._

The other shook his head and reached for something, just two seconds later light sparked over his face. Pale and so exhausting-looking that even Ian could tell it was probably too late to exist at his place. _Again; nice one, Ian._

"Hey, I- I’m really sorry I woke you up," Ian uttered again, his tongue felt more and more heavy in his mouth and the blush was setting his freckles aflame by then. "I didn’t mean to."

There was a bit of silence on the other’s behalf. Ian pondered if maybe he didn’t speak English as good as it first seemed, but then again, he looked.. distracted. His eyes were flicking from the screen to something behind it in the room, and Ian couldn’t tell what, but it seemed almost like it concerned him.

"No, it’s okay," he said lastly, a sigh hissing between his lips like a howl. That was it. His eyes were back to screen, and it seemed almost as if he was studying Ian, like he was searching for the name-tag of a Target assistant, like he was looking for something to grasp and to look at closely before making some sort of huge decision (that could be rather tiny, after all).

But, the thing was, that Ian did almost the same thing.

He was questioning if the other’s hair was black or just really dark brunette, he was questioning if the wall behind him was patterned or stained; but, what he questioned the most, was what to talk about, because, in all honesty, this failed Skype-call didn’t seem all that failed at all, and he wanted this to linger on for longer, even if that meant keeping the poor boy awake.

"No, really, I’m sorry," he ended up repeating, though went on like he had a straight plan, from A to B to C and directly to D. "I just clicked something wrong and I got to your account and your status made me curious and then I clicked something wrong again and here I am talking to you. So. What does your status mean ?" It was incredible, how fast dreadful silence turned into something even more dreadful; _a ramble._ Ian didn’t do it a lot, really, he could talk and his talks could be terribly dragged, but they were never really rambles-- but, then there were situations like this, where he couldn’t help trying to excuse himself with every fibre of his body, with every word he said which just added on to the endlessness of words that were a pain in basically anyone’s ears.

Anyone’s but this one’s.

Even though his expression seemed confused, lost in between Ian’s useless sentences, he was.. sort of listening. Like, listening closely, every word with every syllable with every letter, he heard them and they stood in his brain, like he studied them over and over again, a million times.

"You understand me ?"

It seemed like his thoughts were torn up again when Ian turned back to his shrill _'I’m talking to an old lady’_ -mode, loud and way more painful in the ears than the other was used to by then.

"Fuck, yea I do, Jesus Christ," he grumbled, re-positioning himself on his bed, loosening the blanket which had been wrapped around his shoulders the whole time but slipped down to his chest and then his waist later on.

Ian looked at him with raised brows. Waiting for an answer. Waiting for anything. Proof, maybe another remark. _"So ?"_

The other blinked at him through the screen like you could hear him sweat with nervousness. Like, _shit,_ yea, he had heard and understood what he said, but-- maybe a little too much, maybe he focussed on the words so much that they lost their meaning (but hey, how could they be meaningful if nothing else was important to the boy but some American redhead sitting and apologizing to him at 3 am-- nothing made sense at 3 am, everyone knew that, obviously).

"So what ?" he lastly spoke, brows up on his forehead like earlier, his English was spit like tasteless chewing gum. Ian wasn’t quite sure how to react, really, and all he did was.. laugh.

 _"Laugh longer than two fucking seconds and I’ll fly myself to fuckin’ America to cut your ugly accented tongue out,"_ is what the other probably wanted to say. What he really did, though, was nothing but sit there, helplessly concerned, his mouth slightly open-- and what was that what he could feel ? _Flushing cheeks ?_

_E-fucking-nough._

"Stop that-- okay ? Just-- stop," he pleaded, and somehow, Ian actually managed to stop-- however, there was still this disgustingly smug grin on his face, the thing he did way too often, one corner of his mouth higher than the other and that _stupid suggesting blink_ in his eyes that basically told you _'Hey, I outsmarted you, I am amazing and also better than you and also really great.'_ He didn’t say that, though.

"Sorry, sorry. God. I asked what your Skype status meant. I was curious and clicked things."

 _"Ohhhh,"_ the boy responded, a slow nod and a huge proud grin spreading over his lips as he sat himself up a little so he wouldn’t have to have his elbow propped, shoving his knuckles into the screen. Inked letters in his paper-white skin, reading _FUCK U-UP._

Well, that made sense.

"Hm," Ian hummed. "I see. Sort of a risky tattoo for someone this young. Well, like, I assume that you’re young. Judging by your skin-tone you could be a vampire, too, so," there was a chuckle somewhere intruding the sentence, and hey, maybe it came from the boy on Ian’s screen instead of from Ian himself-- as much as the other probably hated admitting it.

"Ay, shut up, will ya’ ? You’re at least as pale as me, with your fancy freckles and red fuckin’ hair, like seriously, I bet you glow in the goddamn dark," there it was again, a grin, a laugh, on a face that first seemed so incredibly ghostly to Ian, it was strange how first impressions were mostly.. bullshit. You could barely judge someone without asking them a few questions-- they didn’t even need to be about themselves.

Then Ian laughed, too. It didn’t seem as unusual to the other as it did to himself, though.

"You just want to hear me apologizing, don’t you ?" Ian spoke, and there was his phone buzzing from somewhere on his bed, it was probably a message from Lip asking where he was, but to be terrifyingly honest, Ian had way more fun talking to the stranger from somewhere-in-Europe than talking to his very own brother who’d only complain about his oh-so-successful sex-life, anyways.

And, before whether Ian nor the other boy could think twice, he continued to talk.

"I think I never caught your name actually."

Truth, he never did. There was a name to the unknown Skype-number, but it was in some weird letters Ian couldn’t read. There was an _M_ at the beginning, and something that looked like an _i_ and.. an _a_ , maybe ? Ian really couldn’t tell-- or, he didn’t want to tell.

"Mickey," the other said, and Ian nodded in silence. _Mickey. A nickname, maybe ?_

"Mickey, like Mickey Mouse, or..?" He asked, not quite sure-- the boy seemed rather tough, not like he’d accept being called after some children’s cartoon character.

"I’m Ian."

 _"Mickey Mouse ?"_ His voice was questioning, almost as if he didn’t.. get Ian. Like, yea, he did know about Mickey Mouse, but how _dare_ you think of that ? Why’d _that_ be your first thought ?

Ian grinned at Mickey’s reaction, laughter winding in his mouth, voiceless, barely notable. "Yea, Mickey Mouse. Sounds similar. Where’re you from ? Your English is pretty good, but you don’t seem to be American or whatever there is."

"Nah," Mickey replied, flicking his tongue over his teeth like he was getting ready for bragging about something-- there was pride all over his face, how he was sitting himself up, "I’m Ukrainian. Just happen to have a sister with an American boyfriend who’s a lazy dick and won’t learn Ukrainian even though he hangs around our goddamn house all the fuckin’ time," he shrugged and shifted in his bed again, Ian nodding, pretending like he listened when maybe he was too busy staring at him.

"Ukrainian. That’s cool," he said, and really, that’s all he caught from what Mickey had said. "America is boring. I bet it’s all exciting where you live."

 _"Pfft,_ you think this is _Lord of War_ or somethin’ ? Ain’t nothing different here from America. Well, of course there is differences, but livin’ is as normal and boring here as at yours."

It was that really, Mickey couldn’t quite say anything without either making Ian laugh or stare in awe. It was-- he was actually sort of interesting, like, the way he seemed tired and raspy and sort of like if Ian would’ve woken him in person he would’ve jabbed a knife into his bare chest, but how he at the same time just continued talking to him, laughing like Ian was, he barely took a hand to his hair which seemed sort of like it wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

Ian liked that. Besides making himself feel like Mickey actually enjoyed talking to him, it also made him sort of.. heavy in the chest.

Especially, because, he was keeping this boy awake even though he seemed dead-tired, and he’d rather want him going to sleep than listen to Ian’s nonsense-- but Ian was way too selfish to say that out loud. He loved listening to some sleepy Ukrainian boy talking and cussing about something Ian wasn’t even listening to simply because he was too busy thinking about how it was unfair that people like him didn’t live close to him.

"What time is it at yours again ?"

"4.12 AM by now, why ?"

"9.12 PM for me. Wow," Ian muttered, slight disappointment making his rocks for heart even heavier in the rips. There were _eight fucking hours_ between them, _God._ Ian thought that he’d definitely talk to the boy again, but with current things going on it’d be hard to miss more sleep than he was already.

"Ay there, stop frownin’. I couldn’t sleep anyways, and you’re sorta entertaining. Where’re you from ? Like, exactly, state and stuff. Don’t worry, not gonna fly myself to find ya’ house and rob you or anything," Mickey said after some sort of pause, trying to cheer the other up as if he was crying or something-- honestly, he just wanted to see the other laugh, like, being entertained like he himself said he was, because, sickeningly enough, Mickey liked hearing the others laughter, even if the internet connection sometimes fucked up his sound and made it all weird robotic-like.

"That’s not it, I just-- nevermind," Ian huffed out some air and stretched his arms over his head, wiggling his shoulders until he could feel his back crack. "I’m from Chicago. Unspectacular, I know I know. And you live in.. uhm.. what’s the capital of Ukraine again ? Sorry. Never really paid attention in Geography."

"Don’t worry 'bout it, me neither. It’s not like the Ukraine is as important as America anyways, with your Obama-shit and what-not. Can’t really imagine it bein' a thing in American Geography classes," Mickey answered and there was something ridiculous about it-- because, really, if Ian thought back to it, they never had the Ukraine or anything close to that in Geography class. Like, as if Geography class was so important to him but-- _rude. Maybe he rather wanted to learn about the Ukraine than the geography of Illinois._

"Yea, I dunno’ anymore," he decided to say, in the end. There was nothing more to it, really. "So, what is the capital of the Ukraine ?"

 _Typical Ian-move._ But really, he didn’t know. God, he lived in _America--_ America, where nothing was more important than.. America. Like, not even America. Rather like, the states, and a little bit of hatred towards Canada. He wondered if there was more to that he was dismissing.

 _"Idiot,"_ the other pointed out, shake of his head, grin on his clenched teeth, like, _fuck that grin, stop that._ "Kiev, goddamn Kiev! How do you not know ?"

"I happen to live in America, Jesus, _sor-ry,"_ he tried to stop it with all of his strength but there was a pretty similar grin curling over his own face by then, and he bit on the inside of cheeks to stop it, but he couldn’t, he lost the war, and along with the corners of his mouth rising there was one alarming colour taking over his face.

The throne that was his heart had been long surrendered.

 

                               *** 

Ian had ignored all messages he got from Lip. He opened them, read through them, but simply didn’t answer. It’s not like he didn’t care, but-- _lies. Lies, lies, lies._ He didn’t give two fucking fucks. He was buried deep in a conversation about Russians and Hungarians and how maybe he had absolutely no clue what the other was talking about but seemed so intrigued by it that he didn’t want him to stop, so he just nodded and smiled and there was bashing in his chest which was so violent he was afraid his rips’d break.

He found that feeling very soothing, no matter how much it hurt at times.

It hurt the most, for example, when it was Ian’s turn to ramble about something as unnecessary as dysfunctional traffic lights in downtown Chicago, and he noticed the other’s dropping head, at some point something along the lines of tiny snores huffing from his nose silently.

_Mickey fell asleep._

And there was nothing Ian could do about it.

Really, nothing. He thought this might be the time where he needed to hang up-- but.. he kind of couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. There was something so satisfying about Big Bad Wolf Mickey with half his forehead vanishing out of the screen, and even though it made Ian feel bad for keeping him awake until his limit of exhaustion was reached, he wanted to wake him back up, or _fuck,_ just watch him sleep until it was late enough for Ian to get tired as well, because.. _maybe he just liked talking to him._

Ian ended up stopping the call after a few minutes of snoring Mickey, anyways. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to wake up any time soon, and Ian’d feel way too bad for waking him again.

He hung up, left a message; _"We’ll repeat this some time you’re not supposed to sleep, okay ? Sweet dreams!",_ and lastly turned to look at his phone.

Two missed calls from Lip. But the only person Ian wanted to call back was Mickey.

 


End file.
